


Operation: Compromise

by sharkie



Series: Across the Stars [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Old Republic
Genre: AU - canon welding, Crack Fic, F/M, Sexual References, happy-ish ending, i am 55 percent sure i've accidentally stumbled upon canon, what the fuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-14 21:19:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2203443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkie/pseuds/sharkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two decades before the Treaty of Coruscant, a talented Imperial operative tasks himself with seducing and breaking a rising star in the Republic military. It’s not as easy as it first seems. Spoilers for the Agent, Trooper, and Smuggler storylines</p><p>
  <b>[Discontinued]</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shore Leave

**Author's Note:**

> According to the SWTOR Encyclopedia: _“Garza’s third and final marriage was to a civilian on Coruscant, though they were later annulled and the civilian’s name was classified under mysterious circumstances.”_
> 
> According to conversations with Lekern Renald and Dr. Lokin: Keeper/The Minister of Intelligence was once a really good Cipher agent. 
> 
> headcanonnnnnnnnnnnn
> 
> because the idea of young, idealistic!Keeper and young, idealistic!Garza metaphorically and literally screwing each other over is just too damn tasty to pass up

Major Elin Garza now had two failed marriages, if you counted premature death as a failure, which she did.

Granted, she hadn’t been entirely sure about her staying power with Joron - they’d gotten together not long after her first divorce; he was a rebound, if you will - but she’d liked him, even loved him some days. He was - _had been_ \- a good man, and she was genuinely heartbroken at his passing, for a given value of ‘heart’.

That was why she was spending her (forced) shore leave at the Dealer's Den cantina, in a slinky dress and fuck-me heels. There was an orange Republic insignia on her wristband and a holdout blaster in her purse. She had no wingman, nothing to occupy her besides subtle people-watching and drinking, and no idea what to do with her personal life. Three straight nights wasted perching on a barstool had confirmed her suspicions: civilian men were soft. They ogled her from across the room, with their dopey doe eyes, shyly trying to examine her, like she was some holojournal. 

She swore she could hear their thoughts: _tragic, beautiful lady. What’s her story?_   Ha! There's isn't a damn story, she thought, in a burst of disgust. Man up and talk to me! She wasn't searching for Husband Three tonight, not yet, anyway - she'd just wanted the comfort of strangers, but they were failing to impress.  Garza hiked her hemline up ever-so-slightly and casually lifted her leg, a gesture meant to taunt her audience, to punish them for their inaction. Read 'em and weep, boys. 

* * *

Cipher One enjoyed making an entrance. Possibly it was a psychological quirk; he’d gotten used to being invisible, so he loved the attention.

Still, tossing a Houk gangster clear into a cantina, kicking him to the ground, and blasting him in the back of the head _may_ have been a tad melodramatic.

He could already imagine his Watcher tsking at him and giving a lengthy lecture about remaining inconspicuous, especially in Republic space. Screw that. If the Cipher had learned anything from a year of deep-cover activities (which he had not, according to his superiors, though they had yet to cut him loose, probably because he was so damn efficient...what was he saying?), it was that citizens of the Republic weren’t any more magnanimous than Imperials. They didn’t care if he punched an alien in the face in broad daylight as long as he looked like he had a good reason to be doing so.

The agent sauntered up to the bar and ordered a drink. The mundaneness of this action immediately, hilariously caused the other patrons to lose interest in him - save for a solitary woman. Around his age, and attractive enough, though her eyes were darkened and her face was severe. He met her stare, and smiled, even before recognition hit him. When it did, he had to stop himself from doing a double-take. Say. Wasn’t that…?

Target acquired.

Lose the accent, he reminded himself. Casual posture. Act like you belong here. Cipher One  had written several reports on Major Garza; she was rapidly shaping up to be a key player on both the intergalactic political and military scenes. Mentally, he went over her file: Coruscant-born, only child, currently twenty-five; enlisted in the army before legal age using doctored credentials, promoted to Major three months ago. Once-divorced, recently widowed. Hated spies. When she had first come to the attention of Imperial Intelligence, they'd dismissed her importance, figuring that the stream of SIS reports extolling and damning her in equal parts must have been residue from her marriage to Marcus Trant. She'd quickly proven them wrong. 

Garza was the one who approached him. A Force-given opportunity was presenting itself, and it was his duty to the Empire to see it through. His eyes openly drifted down to her long legs as she walked; he continued to smile, and to scheme. 

* * *

He was well-dressed, well-groomed, and was smiling at her in a way which could either be described as obnoxiously charming or charmingly obnoxious, Garza couldn't decide. Just her luck that all the interesting men tended to be consummate bastards, and/or vice-versa. Stars, she really had a type. She didn't look at him as she pointedly nudged the Houk’s corpse with her foot.

“I’m gonna have to ask you to clean that up," the Major told him. 

“On whose authority?” he questioned, not in an unpleasant tone. He spoke smoothly, with an upper-level Coruscanti accent, she noted, like a vaguely sleazy businessman. Ugh. But he clearly knew how to handle a blaster, so he couldn't be _all_ bad. 

“Republic military.” The guy was cute, but probably mouthy as hell. There were ways of fixing that, she reflected, then found herself feeling a sudden thrill. 

“You do realise that this man was a member of the Black Sun?” the stranger drawled. 

Black Sun. Kriff. They'd been a real pain lately, or so her friends in CorSec had been complaining. “Doesn’t matter," she snapped, "this counts as littering.”

He laughed at that. “In that case, help me dispose of him? It’s your civic duty,” he added.

Against her better judgment, hints of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "If you want to get me alone, you need to try harder than that." 

"Ever wrestled a Houk? They're heavier than they look." 

“Your name, first.”

* * *

"Darrell Pollard," he answered. Cipher One's painstakingly constructed cover identity. In the event that she checked - and she probably would, based on what he knew about her personality - he'd appear legit, to her untrained eye. "And you are...?"

"Major Elin Garza, 45th Infantry Division." She gave a salute, seemed to size him up as she did. "You may have heard of me." She sounded cocky. He liked that - feigning affection on command was part of the job, and it was easy to get confused; but she might truly amuse him, for the time being. 

"I haven't had the pleasure. Good to meet you, Elin." 

She winced. "I prefer 'Garza'."

"Elin," he repeated, with a shit-eating grin. 

She rolled her (icy, intelligent, _frightening_ , blue) eyes as she moved to the other end of the corpse. Between the two of them, they were able to wrest the body out of the cantina and onto the street. Not many people took notice of them- wartime blues had made Coruscant more hostile, less forgiving. While they worked, Cipher One pretended to sneak peeks at Garza's face, intentionally made his interest as obvious as he possibly could without saying anything. 

They made it several blocks down to the public trash compactor, without stopping to rest, in silent concentration. His arms began to ache halfway through, steadily working up to a dull burn; Houks were pure muscle, and dead Houks didn't have the decency to support their own body weight. The compactor was right in front of them when Garza's knees finally buckled, and his followed suit. They stumbled, and gracelessly slid to the ground - Cipher, Major, Houk corpse and all, at least two of them laughing. This was easier than he could've hoped. 

* * *

"You know what? Damned cleaning droids can take it from here," Garza grumbled. They were still on the floor, kneeling by the corpse. 

"Fine by me."

"I'm gonna go back to the cantina and drink the pain away. The muscular pain," she clarified. She added, in an unconvincingly nonchalant manner, "Want to come with?"

"I'll take you up on that. I do love a woman in uniform." 'Darrell' flicked his tongue out, swiped it around his lips. His voice lowered. "I love her even more when she's out of it." 

"I saw a Rodian janitor mopping just now," she replied. She inched closer. Their kneecaps almost bumped together. "I'm sure she'd appreciate the flattery." 

"You should have said something," he chided, "that would've saved us the trouble of taking out the trash." Cipher One glanced at Major Garza. Their hands met somewhere near the Houk's entry wound. Their fingers curled against each other's; she withdrew her pinky and used it to lightly trace across his knuckles. "Although I suppose it wasn't a total waste." 

She graced him with a succinct, "Maybe." 

"There's a back room," Cipher One murmured. 

Garza made a noncommittal humming noise. "Hmm." 

"This will only take a few minutes." He stood abruptly, offered her his hand to help her up. She ignored it, got to her feet on her own. "Consider it a taste of what I'm capable of." 

She tossed her hair over one shoulder. She met his heated gaze. "You're on." 


	2. Title Drop

They stumbled out of the back room fifteen minutes later, hair tousled and clothes askance. Garza cleared her throat and straightened her dress strap; Cipher One discreetly used a flimsiplast napkin to remove a lipstick mark from his crotch area. Together, they took seats back at the bar. Garza wordlessly motioned for the bartender, fussing with her mussed hair.

"A glass of champagne for me, and a Corellian whiskey on the rocks for the lady," Cipher One ordered, before Garza could speak.

She side-eyed him critically. "How'd you know that?" she questioned, voice still raspy. 

" _Really_?" Cipher One appeared to be taken aback."Huh. Lucky guess." 

Garza didn't question it further. She never had been good at gauging whether her suspicions were justified, or if she was just being paranoid, so tonight she pushed the doubtful voice into the furthest corner of her brain. When the bartender returned with their drinks, they clinked their glasses together. 

"I'd like to do this again," Cipher One said, in a breezy, businesslike voice. 

"Which part?"

His gaze slowly raked down Garza's body as he took a sip of his champagne. She basked in the glow of being so brazenly appreciated. "All of it. Well, maybe not the dead Houk." 

"That was the best damn part," Garza joked. Cipher One playfully shoved her in response. She laughed, then sobered for a moment. "Listen," she began, "this was fun, and I like you well enough, but I don't know you..."

The man smiled at her. "Give me a chance." 

Garza's eyes dropped to the Republic band on her wrist, which had always felt more comfortable than her wedding rings. "I don't usually date civilians." 

"I want to see you again, that's all. No games, no ulterior motives. If one of us gets sick of the other, we part ways, with no hard feelings." Civilian status aside, it was as if this man was made with her in mind. Direct, witty, gutsy.  _Uncomplicated._  

"You're very forthcoming," she observed.

Cipher One waved a hand dismissively. "Honesty is the best policy."

Garza tilted her head. "You mean besides the ones that let your type lobby the Senate into stalemates." 

"Don't hate the player, hate the game." 

The voice in her head remained silent. Garza acquiesced. They exchanged holofrequencies. They bid each other farewell for now in the form of a long, borderline immodest kiss which managed to earn disapproving stares from some of the other patrons.

Once Garza had returned to her apartment, she punched the number into her personal holocom. Right as the connection was being established, she received an incoming call.  

It was Cipher One. They were both still dressed as they had been earlier. "Hello, Elin," he practically purred. The way he said her name almost made her like it. 

"Darrell," she said, evenly, "I was just about to give you a call myself, actually."

"Missed me?"

"I was checking you didn't give me a fake number." 

He laughed at that - a genuine, surprised laugh, one she hadn't heard earlier. "Honestly? That's why I'm calling." 

"Let me guess: you would have been devastated if I'd lied," Garza teased. 

Cipher One shrugged. "I would have found you." 

"Coruscant is an awfully big city."

"I have an awfully big network."

"Among other things." 

His jaw dropped, in what Garza assumed was a faux-scandalized expression. She smirked as he demanded, "Are you trying to make me blush?" 

"I'll accept whatever deference I can get from you," she replied. 

"I'm good at taking orders. You'll see." 

They spoke for a while longer, promised to see each other soon. Garza changed into her sleepwear, settled into her (empty, lonely, _spacious_ ) bed, and booted up her personal datapad in order to scour the HoloNet for info on Darrell Pollard. She'd been right about the lobbying, a rare correct assessment on her part, or so she thought. He was also a philanthropist. He'd graduated from a top business school on Corellia; previous employers included Czerka Arms and TasCorp. There was no mention of his political or personal views, but she supposed that was part of maintaining a professional appearance. She wouldn't know, anyway - she'd never been anything but a soldier. 

That night, she went to sleep with her heart feeling lighter than usual. 

* * *

Over the next week and a half, they met up every couple of days. The sex was good; the conversations were better. They were mutually surprised to find that they had things to talk about - for long amounts of time, even, until the Coruscanti skyline shifted its tone from glitzy advertisements to muted in the dawn. Garza viewed Cipher One as brilliant and charming, but selfish and somewhat out of touch with the average citizen; she suspected that he viewed her as strong-willed and street smart, but unrealistic and too uncompromising in her pro-Republic beliefs. This really wasn't ordinary pillow talk, but then, they weren't ordinary people. 

On the days when they didn't meet, they made a game of swapping recent news articles through holomail, often about senators misbehaving, often with their own sardonic captions attached. And, every other night, Cipher One submitted his reports...

* * *

“‘Operation: Compromise’,” the holo-image of Fixer Fifteen repeated, in a bored voice. He frowned. “My, that’s original.”

“Oh, shut up," Cipher One said, cheerfully. 

“Not even 'Operation Compromising Position'? You disappoint me, Cipher.”

“It still makes sense," Cipher One insisted, "seeing as I’m trying to emotionally compromise the Major. Operation names longer than one word are a waste of time and space." 

The holo-image's frown deepened. “Yes, yes," the Fixer concurred, "you’re very smart and efficient and so on. Why are you calling?”

“Two things. First: I need something for stamina.”

Fixer Fifteen blanched. “With all due respect, I actually hate you.”

“No, you don’t. Second -" Cipher One's face momentarily darkened. He kept his voice as neutral as possible; he trusted the Fixer, as far as he could trust anyone else in Imperial Intelligence, but you had to be politically correct about this sort of thing. "How's Kirill?"

"An asshole, as always. This is an open communications channel, and I'm unafraid to express so." Fixer Fifteen shuddered. "He makes you look like a Jedi."

"So, he has yet to 'mellow with age', as my former commanding officer once put it?"

"Far from it. Results, man." Fixer Fifteen sighed as he ran a hand through his prematurely greying hair. "I mean, if you must, butcher civilians on your own time - not the Empire's."

Cipher One smiled grimly. "My thoughts exactly. This is why we're friends."

"We're not friends," Fixer Fifteen protested. 

Harridax Kirill had been a slaver-turned-privateer. Upon his (admittedly daring, Cipher One conceded, grudgingly) seizing of a Republic ship full of young Force sensitives, the Imperial Navy had taken him in and promoted him all the way up to Commander. Cipher One had been a Corporal at the time - he'd requested a transfer to Imperial Intelligence shortly after he'd heard the news. If bloodthirsty opportunists like Kirill rose to such lofty positions within the Empire, then true patriots like Cipher One needed to keep an eye on them. 

"Keep me appraised of the situation," Cipher One said. He paused, one finger hovering over the disconnect button.  "And I wasn't joking about that thing for stamina. Cipher One out." He was pretty sure he heard Fixer Fifteen murmur "thank the Force" as the connection was terminated.

He took a deep breath before entering Major Garza's holofrequency. Mind the accent, he thought. And don't get too cocky - those bits about ordering her usual drink and saying "I would have found you" were cutting it close. You're not here to have fun at her expense. It's not the kid's fault she's oblivious.

"Elin," he greeted her, flashing a dazzling smile. She offered him an arched eyebrow in return. "You're looking lovely as always. I hope this is a good time." 

She was wearing her Republic combat gear. Her hair was pinned up in a tight bun, striped helmet cradled in one arm. "Sure, just make it quick. I'm heading back to the Market district." 

"I thought you had found what you were searching for." Cipher One pointed at himself and locked gazes with Garza, meaningfully. 

Garza's mouth quirked up in restrained amusement. "The Black Sun-affiliated slaver contact operating in the area? Nope. Just found out about him this morning." 

The Major was already beginning to reveal mission details to him. Internally, Cipher One rubbed his hands in delight. Outwardly, he feigned distaste. "That's what they have you doing?"

"Not exactly. This is my own initiative," she admitted. Cipher One's spirits dampened slightly. Garza continued, "The brass can stick me on mandatory shore leave, but they can't keep me from doing my damn job."

A woman after his own heart. Shame about the whole other-side-of-the-war thing. "I can meet you there. What time do you think the shooting will stop?" 

"Darrell, don't," Garza said, voice sharp. "You can't get involved in military operations."

"This isn't a military operation."

"Well, it would be, if my superiors weren't busy being useless." Garza pursed her lips; when she unpursed them, he noticed that they were shiny and an unnatural shade of pink, and he wondered if she was planning to wear lipgloss underneath that helmet. "I don't know what kind of rich-boy vigilante fantasies you have - "

"Oh, ouch."

"- but you can't just saunter into a hot zone and start taking down bad guys. There are procedures, rules - a ton of them are a load of crap, but that's not my point right now. When outsiders get involved, it makes things more complicated. You get what I'm saying?" 

Dear, you have no idea, Cipher One thought. He realised he could point out her hypocrisy. Aloud, he said, "Yes, ma'am." 

Garza regarded him with something resembling affection. "You're lucky you're cute." 

"I'm lucky you think so."

As soon as they'd said their goodbyes and the holoterminal had been switched off, Cipher One grabbed his blaster. Statistically, the Major did good work, but she was earning a reputation for tactical blunders - not anything critically important, so far, but she'd demonstrated a glaring lack of foresight. Recently bereaved as she was, without proper supervisors peering over her shoulder, she was liable to make a fatal mistake. That would be a regrettable waste of resources. 

Evidence suggested that Garza's best work relationships were the ones where her maverick approach was challenged. Marcus Trant had been one of those relationships; the others included the likes of Jace Malcom and Satele Shan. Garza would be pissed to see the Cipher in her territory, undoubtedly, but not enough to swear him off for good. 

It was in the Empire's best interest for him to help Elin Garza stay alive, at least, until he was done with her. 


End file.
